[attr="class","appbody"]
[attr="id","humancol"]body fate
In the house that witnesses countless witches' births, an old belief rambles: on a stormy night, run to the old well at the end of the garden, throw a lock of hair, and drop your wish.[break][break]
Rain beats against the window; thunder rumbles. You sneak out of your room and then bolt into the night, feet stomping the ankle-high grass, soaked hair, and drenched nightshirt hugging your adolescent body. When you arrive at the well, you lean into its dark mouth, follow the ritual, and as your hair falls, you murmur: "Please, make a witch out of me."[break][break]
You're eighteen. You belong to a distant branch of the von Aegir, but the weight of the name shadows you.[break][break]
You're eighteen. Your chest tightens as fear and envy erect their flag, conquering every part of yourself: you share your mother's body outline, but yours may tell a different story.
Fights against fate are impossible to win. And on a beautiful day in June, you stand in front of the partner your family chose for you. A fellow noble, but more importantly a witch. Fingers clasped on a bouquet, a river of pearls binding your neck, and an embroidered veil framing your face, you eye your soon-to-be spouse, haloed with gentleness and pride.[break][break]
I do, you say in response. Under people's cheers, you go from tight embraces to teary hugs, congratulations buzzing in your ears, and figures filing in front of your blurry vision. [break][break]
Happiness has claimed a prominent place -- you comply. [break][break]
A sweet breeze toys with your now-then loosened hair as your mother and mother-in-law escort you outside. The three of you stop under a wisteria; their stares burn holes in your skin.[break][break]
"We are happy enough with the marriage," your mother says.[break]
"You don't need to carry a child." your in-law adds.[break][break]
Body without magic. Dry and fruitless. [break][break]
You don't want your child to be like you, do you?[break][break]
They rub your arms -- you remain silent, realizing you have traded a new name for the same old story.
Tying the knot reaps your roots apart when your spouse tells you your next destination.
"You can work there as well," they assure you, and with an unwavering sheep's faith, you trust this knot you have placed into their capable hands. [break][break]
You are far too busy with your new life and workplace to notice what those hands are capable of. Each year, they tighten their hold.[break][break]
"You should let me take care of that, my love.", "Why didn't you wait for me? Look, you hurt yourself...", "Promise, you'll ask me next time, love."[break][break]
Each sentence ties you to them -- and when you finally open your eyes, your life isn't yours anymore.[break][break]
In your letters, you search for the right words to confide in, still afraid they'll glance over your shoulder and identify the doubts and fears you hide.[break][break]
Love is a lie. A witch and a human can never live on equal terms.[break][break]
You want to run away, but the only heartfelt letter you sent to a relative is addressed to Amari following the loss of their family.[break][break]
Tragedy strikes -- you find a well and rip your throat as your wish dies inside.[break][break]
Please, grant us better days.It takes a few pairs of hands to tear your sheep's coat apart. It takes another two years to drag you out of this fantasy you were submerged in. You entered this relationship as a broken soul; you hug tightly the crumbs left with sealed lips -- the truth? No one will listen. No one will care. How dare you even step outside this well-crafted fairytale that you poor human needed more than anything else.[break][break]
You have been taught witches have the right to be arrogant. You have been taught you will be wrong all your life.[break][break]
Know your place.[break][break]
Know who you are.[break][break]
While glancing over your shoulder, you rebuild your identity, little by little, a sense of self murmuring you are better alone and need to find kindred souls. People who will accept you... and the others... You may be human, but the education you received forged the mindset of a noble.[break][break]
Isn't shame the name of the cross you are born to bear, anyway?[break][break]
You lift it as you pave your way through work -- and your specific interest in how each culture in Salem grasps magic and its roots catches attention.[break][break]
Years have passed. You're back in Delphi, older, divorced, shaping yourself into a fort resisting the one question your entourage liked to ask you: "What will you do by yourself?"[break][break]
But now, you know, there are others like you.[break][break]
So, you claimed your name back and chose to write your own story.
[attr="id","humancol"]notes
- afraid of horses, but it's okay, she can ride on a pony
- tall, around 180cm
- has three sisters (two older than her and one who's the youngest)
- in her quest for independence, she decided to learn practical things (plumbing and so on) -- sometimes, it doesn't go well
- used to be part of a penpal program for inmates. Her spouse looked unfavourably on those exchanges and she stopped at some point
- lives in an old manor house she bought one year ago
- used to do ballet when she was younger. she has kept a careful diet from those days
- loves swimming and there is an inside pool in her house
- a cabinet of curiosities is hidden within her manor
[attr="class","appplayedby"]played by [attr="class","appooc"][attr="id","humancol"]butternut
